


Seagulls over Cefalu

by viccxx (Hatsepsut)



Category: Dress Up! Time Princess (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, I'm so sorry Vitto, Suicide, what have I done?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-29 01:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30148557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsepsut/pseuds/viccxx
Summary: She can take no more of this endless waiting...she ends it all, just as the wait was about to end.Vitto arrives at Kefalu, to be reunited with his Liz. But it's too late.
Relationships: Elizabeth Colvin/Vittorio Puzo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Seagulls over Cefalu

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RainbowButter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowButter/gifts).



She looked to the distance, letting the slight breeze tousle her hair. She raised her head to the sky, squinting against the harsh Sicilian sun. A small boat arrived down at the harbour, blowing its horn, once, twice, in greeting; seagulls scattered in sudden fright. She smiled at them absent-mindedly, as they flew overhead.

She looked down, to the deep, steep drop before her feet.

How she wished she could be a bird, to grow winds and fly, to soar near the sun like another Icarus, until her feathers were scorched. It would be a glorious way to go, burned by the sun, embraced by the sea. Any way would be a great way to die- any one other than this.

She looked down at the steep drop again. A coward’s way, jumping to your death, like an insipid little princess.

She sighed, then look to the distance. The boat had unloaded its few travellers and whatever supplies it carried and had already sailed off again. Nobody stayed her in Cefalu for long, not unless they had deep roots here, or like her, had nowhere else to go.

Like her. That had nowhere else to go, had nothing else to do, had nothing else to hope for, nothing else to live for.

Six months had passed since that night in Juliano’s club. Six months now, that she’d hoped beyond hope, that she waited beyond waiting, that she fought despair daily, knowing that one day soon, she’d lose.

And that day had come.

She felt something wet on her face, and realised that once again, she was crying. She wiped her face, then gritted her teeth. It was just a step. One more step, and the pain would stop, the despair would end, the thought of living without Vitto would stop being like a dagger of ice, splintering in her heart. Just one step. What was one step? She’d fall, she’d die, and the pain would end with her.

Please, God, _push me_.

And with that, and his name on her lips, she clasped a hand on her broken heart, and jumped.

She had only one instance to regret it, to think _why, why am I doing this, stop me, somebody stop me_ , then one thought, _Vitto_ , a sudden impact, pain.

Then nothing.

The seagulls still circled overhead, squawking as to mourn for the young girl at the bottom of the cliff.

* * *

Vitto crossed the threshold of the small house with an expectant smile and longing in his heart. The hours and days and weeks of the trip had seemed endless; all he wanted now was to squeeze Liz in his arms, sleep for a week, and then make love to her for...for eternity. He patted the pocket of his vest, the square little box nestled above his heart, with the ring that declared his love and devotion to her.

He looked around, a little disappointed. She wasn’t in. Maybe she had stepped out to the market for a while. A small smile lit his face. He would have more time to set up a surprise. He went looking for the old woman that Nino had hired to help Liz, and only briefly wondered what the noise and commotion coming from the square was. He tilted his head, only heard the word accident, maybe even cliff? and then he paid no more attention.

* * *

“No, no,” the old priest protested. “She cannot be buried in the church. Take her out of the village. Her soul is cursed.”

“Maybe she fell by accident,” a young girl offered, looking with pity at the broken body that had been lain on the square, over a dirty blanket.

The old priest scoffed. “La Donna Trista? No, she jumped.” he crossed himself, then spat towards the body of the young girl “She is cursed. Bury her with a stick through the heart or she’ll come back to haunt us.”

Suddenly the old priest yelped as he was lifted off the ground by his robes. He gasped as he came face to face with Vittorio Puzo, his eyes shooting flame and his teeth so tightly gritted that enamel would start cracking any minute.

“Don....Don Vittorio,” he choked, but then he was released, just as suddenly as he had been attacked.

Vitto staggered to the body on the gritty blanket, fell to his knees. A wildly trembling hand caressed her face, gently removing the blood-matted hair that had stuck to her alabaster skin. There were still tears on her face, and he bent down, kissed her eyes, then closed them.

The crowd around respectfully started leaving.

A man never cried in Sicily. When a Sicilian cried, only God should witness it. So they all left, pretending they didn’t hear, pretending they didn’t see the man in the square, holding the dead girl he loved, crying over her.

So nobody saw Vitto cry, nobody saw him question Liz, nobody heard him cry out.

_Why, damn it why? Couldn't you wait a day more?_

Nobody saw him slip his ring on her finger.

Only the seagulls, flying overhead.

* * *

“Boss?”

“Yes, Nino,” Vittorio’s voice was thin, almost couldn’t be heard. Add to that the static of the long-distance over-Atlantic call, and Nino had to strain to hear him.

“Did you...Is she at rest?”

Vitto laughed, but the sound was mirthless, so far removed from what a laughter should be, that Nino got a strange, foreboding feeling at the bottom of his stomach.

“I hired some men to bury her in the garden.”

Nino sighed. “Old Father Salvatore didn’t agree to bury her? Even with your donation?”

“The villagers think she is cursed. They didn’t even want her buried anywhere in the village. They think she will become a ghost, always wondering alone.”

Nino hissed. “Sorry boss.”

Another mirthless laugh. “Absurd, isn’t it, Nino? She won’t be alone. _I won’t let her_.”

“Boss?”

Then the sound of a pistol being cocked.

“BOSS! NO!”

A loud bang, echoing over the small village, once again scaring the seagulls.

* * *

_30 years later._

A small group of American tourists trudged after the tour guide. They had come down form an expensive yacht, most of them seniors, perhaps enjoying their retirement.

The young tour guide slowed his step. They hadn’t been interested about much, not the Roman ruins on the far side of the island, or the pretty little church that had been built in the 16th century. Nothing interested them other than stories about the Mafia.

He sighed. ‘There it is,” he said, showing them the cliff. “That’s the cliff.”

One of the tourists, the most obnoxious of them, around his mid-50’s, looked at it uninterestedly. “What’s so important about this cliff?”

“You wanted to hear about the Mafia famiglias here on the island, right? The story goes that one of the most well-known Mafioso around here, Don Vitto, killed himself when his mistress jumped off this cliff.”

“Pfft, who knows what he did to her.”

“She was an American too. From New York. Legend says, that as the sun falls, if you look up to this cliff, and you’ve known what it is to lose the person you loved, you will see their images, kissing on top of the cliff.”

“An American, you said?” the tall, greying blond man sneered. “Here? On this speck of dust?

The tour guide nodded, starting to get really annoyed. “Elizabeth...something. Corvin, I think.”

The man’s eyes widened. “What...what did you say?”

His friends had already started walking down the path again, laughing and jeering.

“Davis! Come on!”

He waved at them, then turned to the guide again. “Colvin? Elizabeth Colvin?”

“Yes!” the tourist guide beamed, then caught the man by the arm, as he almost staggered.

“Are you alright, sir?”

Davis looked up to the cliff, just as the sun was setting, and could swear...he saw an image of a couple, tightly embraced, kissing.

“I’ll be...Liz.”

On the way back the sleek yacht the blond man was unusually sullen and silent. The tour guide wanted to ask what he had seen that had shaken him so much, but only found the opportunity as they were about to board the ship and he was paying him

“If I may ask, sir,” he pocketed the money, surprised at the large tip, “What did you see?”

“A man and woman, embraced.”

“Ah, then you have known loss,” the young tour guide said. “You’ve lost your own true love. I’m sorry.”

The older man sighed. “Yes. Thirty years ago....she just disappeared.”

“Oh? And you never saw her again?’

The man looked at the faraway cliff. His face tightened.

“I did. Today.”

They both fell silent, listening to the seagulls flying above, squawking as to mourn what had been lost.


End file.
